A Little Fall of Rain
by loveadubdub
Summary: She glares at him.  He thinks she might grab the Ultimate Grand Supreme Tiny Tot 1998 trophy beside her and bash his head in.  He hopes she doesn't.  He's having a particularly good hair day, and blood would just screw that up.


**A LITTLE FALL OF RAIN**

_A/N: This story falls into the universe of Inevitable and That's Something but can work as a stand-alone._

**… …** ...

It takes nearly all of Jesse's tricks to actually get into Rachel's house again.

It's funny, of course, because she brought him home and up to her room the second time he ever met her. She was very open and friendly and not at all hesitant about letting him in. Now that they've known each other for awhile, she's far less inclined to open her door and invite him in for a snack.

They forge some sort of odd, strained friendship while he's home. It's based mostly in a ballet studio, and the fact that he's got a girlfriend who frequents the same school is more amusing than anything else. He certainly doesn't see it as a hindrance. A challenge perhaps, but he's always been up for a challenge.

He and Rachel start talking more. Sometimes they have lunch together, and sometimes she lets him take her for coffee after their Wednesday night classes. It's not much more than that, though. She hasn't forgiven him for what she probably imagines to be some world-class betrayal. Maybe it was. Whatever, it's over. No one ever made history by living in the past. He would tell her that if he wanted to risk bringing up The Great Egging Incident of 2010, but he doesn't really. There's no point.

Instead, he focuses all of his effort on making her fall for him again. It's a lot harder this time. Last time, she just looked at him, saw stars, and fell down onto a piano bench beside him like he was the second coming of Christ (or whatever it is Jewish people believe- he doesn't know or care). But this time, she's not so star-struck. She doesn't fall for his lines or his charm as easily as he'd like. He's not used to that because girls generally fall for him pretty easily. Even girls who he fucks over are usually pretty easy to trap again if he gets bored enough. But Rachel's not really like other girls. And maybe he sort of did her one worse than simply not calling when he says he will.

But he loves a challenge.

He knows her well enough to know that she loves nothing the way she loves a good compliment. He thinks it's probably because she rarely gets genuine ones that don't come directly from her fathers. It's not that she doesn't _deserve _them, but she has the type of personality that makes people refuse to say anything nice or encouraging because she lets it go way too far in her head. If people say anything, it's usually an insult or a back-handed compliment. He is good at those, too, but he's not going to use them on Rachel. Not now anyway.

He doesn't have to lie. She really _is _talented. So it's not like he has to go around forcing insincere compliments just to get on her good side. He hates doing that, and he's made a point of avoiding it for several years now. He used to do it pretty regularly, back when most of the girls in Vocal Adrenaline were virgins and wouldn't do _anything _with a boy who wasn't OMG-in-love with them. But the compliments worked- made them trust him and fall for him pretty easily. Most were undeserved, but the girls didn't know that. He could feed their egos a bit if it would get him something in return. But it's been a long time since he's had to resort to that...

Rachel wants to hear those things, though.

She wants to hear that she's the best dancer in her class. She wants to know that her singing talent is impeccable and untouchable. She wants someone to tell her that she's going to make it out of Ohio and that one day all of New York is going to be kissing her ass. He'll tell her those things. He kind of thinks they're true. And the more often he says those things, the closer she gets to being back in.

When she finally invites him back to her house, though, it's not for a make-out session or so that he can (fucking _finally) _get her clothes off. No, it's because she needs a rehearsal partner.

She stops him one Saturday as he's coming out of the bathroom. His girlfriend (and he uses the word loosely) is already in the studio, and Rachel clearly knows that. He smiles at her, and she returns the gesture with a familiar eye roll.

"I need your help," she says flatly, skipping straight to the point.

His brain immediately goes to all the things he could help her with- getting off, her fashion sense, her abrasive personality... The one thing she _doesn't _need help with, though, is the basis of her request.

"I'm preparing my audition portfolio for next year. I'd like your feedback."

"While I'm flattered, wouldn't you rather ask one of your friends in New Directions for assistance?"

She just stares at him, and he can't even keep a straight face for more than a few seconds. He laughs, and she looks annoyed. They both know that A) she _has _no friends in New Directions and B) everyone in New Directions is absolutely useless.

So that's how he ends up as her personal vocal coach.

She doesn't call it that, of course. She seems to be suffering under the misconception that they're equals when, of course, they are not. She might be talented, but in a competition, he would always beat her. And honestly, it's never _not _a competition- even if she doesn't know it. (She knows it).

She just says she respects his opinion and makes up some bullshit about how he is the best choice because he's already gone through this process (successfully) and knows what to expect. That part's true. He's done the auditions, the interviews, the applications. It was a tiring few months, and he's not exactly eager to relive it. Of course, if it helps him toward his ultimate goal, he'll put on a show-face and pretend to be happy to help.

Rachel's good. She'll get into Tisch or wherever it is she wants to go. She'll possibly (probably) get a scholarship. She'll make more enemies than friends. And eventually, she'll find herself exactly where she's already sure she's supposed to be- right in the middle of a Broadway stage with a spotlight meant for one.

He tells her that. Sometimes. Sometimes he tells her she needs to work harder. It's interesting to see that she believes him when he says it.

He doesn't think anyone else knows about their little lessons. It's not like she has an overabundance of people to share things with in the first place, but he's pretty sure that even if she_ did, _she'd keep this one under wraps. He doesn't blame her. He knows how she must look by even _speaking _to him after the events of last year. It's funny how everyone else makes it so much more dramatic than it really is.

They're in her room one Wednesday afternoon before dance. Her parents are still at work, and he comes to Lima a little earlier than necessary to help her with her portfolio. She has a computer full of YouTube quality videos, but the schools want to see live performances. She's got a million up her sleeve, but he tells her right away to put away the "Defying Gravity"s and the "On My Own"s.

"No one will look twice at you if you sing 'Don't Rain on My Parade'," he tells her honestly. And it's the truth.

Instead, he pushes her toward lesser known songs. He gives her a list of selections and walks her through them all, even the ones she's not entire familiar with. She actually listens to him, takes his advice, and _uses _it. It makes him feel important and also slightly smug. But that Wednesday, she's working her way through "Come to Your Senses," and she's asking for his help because she doesn't know the show but needs to understand the concept. He's talking her through it, but he's hearing wrong notes. He tells her she's going flat, and she gets frustrated and says she doesn't know what she's doing wrong. He knows he's about to witness a classic Rachel Berry meltdown because she doesn't tolerate imperfection. She doesn't know what to do with it, and she's literally two seconds away from stomping her foot and throwing a tantrum.

He grabs her keyboard off the floor. The piano's downstairs, but this will serve the purpose just fine. He plays her the right now. "This is where you need to be." He plays a step below. "This is what you're singing." He gives her the right note again, and she sings it easily. It's not even a stretch. He nods and tells her to go back to the start of the verse.

And again, it's flat.

"Are you _sure?" _she asks accusingly, and it's almost cute how she'd rather blame him for her lack of tone than herself.

"I'm not _deaf, _Rachel," he snaps back, but mostly he's amused. "It's flat."

"Well, I don't know how to fix it then!"

"Sing it correctly."

She glares at him. He thinks she might pick up the Ultimate Grand Supreme Tiny Tot 1998 trophy next to her and bash his head in. He hopes that she doesn't because he's having a particularly good hair day, and blood won't do anything but fuck that up. She doesn't hit him, though, she just breathes in through her nose and works very hard to bite out a few words.

"I am doing the best that I can."

That's a lie, and he rolls his eyes to show how little he believes it. Instead, he motions for her to pick the song back up, and he's only a little surprised when she follows his direction. She manages the first part flawlessly, but as she steps up to the second verse, he stands up from the bed to move behind her. She looks at him suspiciously, but she keeps singing anyway. And right as she reaches the part she's had trouble with, he presses a hand under her ribcage and _plays _the proper note right out of her as easily as if he's playing the keys of a piano.

She stops after that and just looks at him. He doesn't move his hand away, nor does he break eye-contact. If he were crass enough to reference girls creaming themselves, he would apply the phrase to this exact situation. She's staring at him intensely, and he _knows _that she wants to kiss him. He gives her a second to see if she'll make the move, but she's either too shocked or to nervous to do anything because she just stands there and keeps staring. Finally, he moves away from her, taking his hand back and sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"From the top," he tells her, and she sings it perfectly.

On Saturday, he stands at the barre with his girlfriend and helps her stretch. He only makes this effort because Rachel's standing at the door watching. He's not sure if he's trying to make her jealous or if he's trying to prove something. His hand is too high on Emily's thigh to mean nothing. He goes back to her apartment after class, and they eat club sandwiches that Rachel with her veganism would never touch. Then they sit on her balcony drinking beer that they're both too young to consume legally, and he lets his finger trace the ankle bone of the foot she's got resting in his lap. It's hot outside, and it's one of those organic moments that feels too much like a scene in a movie to be reality.

"You're very beautiful," he tells her, and it's not a lie. She smiles at him, and he wonders not for the first time what terrible over-the-top scheme he'll have to pull out to make her hate him. There are still three weeks of summer left, so he plans on holding out until the end. It won't go any further than that, though.

When he goes back to Los Angeles, this whole summer will just be a memory.

Later, Emily's on the phone with her mom, and he's watching some mindless Lifetime movie that she's got on. He has no idea what's going on, and he really doesn't care. He's had a few beers and is buzzed. He's not drunk enough to be mindless, but there's a peaceful bliss to the static behind his eyes. He's thinking about California and about Ohio and about New York, and he wonders if Emily has any vocal talent. He's never heard her sing. She's never heard him sing, either, and he's not even sure she knows he _can. _He doesn't really _want _her to know. He thinks she'd probably be terrible. Her speaking voice is too nasaly, and she takes a breath after every single sentence.

He keeps one eye on Emily as he types out a text on his phone and asks Rachel if she wants to get dinner. She says no. Then she sends another message that tells him to come over anyway.

Jesse grabs a few more beers from the fridge, drops a kiss to Emily's forehead as she looks up at him in confusion and continues the conversation with her mother. He mouths that he has to go, waves, and disappears. She's probably pissed, but she'll forgive him. Probably.

Rachel's home alone. She lets him in and asks him right away if he's drunk. He tells her no but offers her one of the unopened beers anyway. She rolls her eyes but doesn't do much more in the way of lecturing him. He's coherent, and he's not going to puke on her kitchen floor or anything. It's fine.

He can hear the strains of "Master of the House" coming from upstairs as he follows her back to her bedroom. _Les Miserables _assaults his ears the second they open the door and go in. He sees some color-coded chart laid out on her bed, names of schools in one column and random check marks in others. He wants to ask what she's doing, but she doesn't give him a chance.

"Who do you think is better?" she asks, dropping onto the bench in front of her bed and leaning against the post. "Eponine or Fantine?"

Leave it to Rachel to completely disregard the age old debate of Eponine versus Cosette and throw Fantine into it instead. He's not surprised. Cosette is out of her range, and although she might get a slightly higher spot on the curtain call, she doesn't have any of the show stoppers. And while she might get the man, she doesn't get any of the audience adoration, either. Jesse's always put this down to the fact that sopranos are usually stuck up and unlikeable in general- at least in his experience. Altos are usually the best, but true altos are so rare that it almost doesn't count.

He's always had a soft-spot for mezzos.

They spend an hour sitting in her room, arguing over the best role and weighing "On My Own" against "I Dreamed a Dream." He ends the debate with the declaration that "A Little Fall of Rain" is the _true _moment of that show, and she stares at him for a few moments and then nods slowly in agreement.

Then she tells him that they should sing it together.

He would. If this was still last year. If he was still trying to impress her and feed her dramatics to the max. Last year, he played a Broadway prince to the princess fantasy in her head, but that's not who he really is. And now it's not about impressing her. She's already impressed. They both know they can sing. She should only do it to win contests or scholarships, and he should only do it if he's getting paid.

So he doesn't.

Instead, he just smiles at her and tells her that she's too pretty for either role.

His mother takes him shopping and spends too much money on clothes that he doesn't really need. He lets her, though, because it makes her feel needed and because she's been complaining for weeks that she's barely seen him all summer. She keeps prying to see if he's got a girlfriend, and he tells her about Emily but is careful not to define her. He keeps Rachel to himself. She doesn't need to know about that.

He's not even sure there's anything _to _know about.

It's starting to get bad- uncomfortable even. Summer's almost over, and he still hasn't managed to seduce or even _kiss _Rachel. It's terrible, of course, because he's obsessing over her in a way he makes a point to never obsess. It comes down to sex, of course, and how he still hasn't learned whether she went there with Finn. The thought actually makes him angry. He just doesn't want to accept the fact that _Finn Hudson _can do _anything _that he himself cannot, and that includes removing Rachel Berry's panties. He thinks about her panties too much. It's almost perverted. It's certainly too _young. _He's not fourteen anymore- he shouldn't be so fixated on a girl's hypothetical underwear.

She still claims to hate him on occasion. It's no truer now than it's ever been. She doesn't _hate _him. She sees to much of herself in him, and she's far too narcissistic to ever hate herself.

He's glad Emily's there. It gives him somewhere to unload the tension and the pressure. He unloads quite a bit more, too, but that's just classless. But Emily. He doesn't dislike her. He just has no real opinion beyond the fact that she could probably benefit from a few Zumba sessions to work on the slight excess around her hips. She's nice enough, and she reminds him vaguely of one of his girls from Vocal Adrenaline- one of the ones who managed not to annoy him incessantly but never managed to make him care. She was good for relieving tension, too.

He hasn't seen much of those guys since he started frequenting Lima. None of them really know what he's up to, and after the first few ignored calls, most of them just stopped calling. He doesn't care. He doesn't have time for them anyway. He has too much on his plate already with his busy ballet schedule. Silly, of course, because he only has classes twice a week. Even with a "girlfriend" and a "girl friend" in town, he only makes it to Lima once every few days. Still, he feels busier than he actually is.

Emily's going down on him one day after class, and he's trying really hard to keep it together and _not _think about another girl. But of course, he doesn't manage too successfully. All he can think about is Rachel and how her mouth is big enough that she'd probably be really good at this. And he wonders why he didn't try to guilt her into it all those months when they were dating and she was keeping her legs pressed tightly together. But he knows that's a really dick move, so he just stops. He tugs on Emily's hair and tells her to stop, and she really needs to sit up before he does something stupid like come on her face or something equally as disgusting.

She looks confused, but he just shakes his head and tries to get himself under control as he moves away from her and zips his pants back up.

"We don't need to see each other anymore."

He doesn't say break up because he's never told her they were dating. Regardless, she looks thoroughly bewildered, and he can't really blame her because _nobody _gets dumped in the middle of oral sex. It's fucked, but he's kind of glad to be the one to do it. He doesn't think many people have the guts to do something like that. It's dramatic and crazy and absolutely beyond comprehension.

She gets off her knees, wipes her mouth, and slaps him.

He'd be pissed if it didn't add even _more _to the drama. Slaps are always good for making moments. Wiping pre-cum from your lips with the same hand is even better.

Seriously. He should write a movie.

He finds Rachel at home. It's not difficult because she really has nowhere else to be. She has no friends, no boyfriend, and her parents have already taken her on vacation. She answers the door looking bored and mostly like she doesn't care that he's there. One of her fathers is home, and he can hear him on the phone in the kitchen. Rachel takes him into the den, and he sits down on the piano bench and asks her if she wants to practice.

She launches nearly immediately into a well-rehearsed ballad that he's already heard a hundred times. It's good, but he's bored. And he has exactly six more days in Ohio.

So fuck it.

He ignores what she's singing and turns around to let his fingers drift over the piano keys. He's got the song memorized- he learned it just last week. She stops singing when she hears the tune, and she watches silently as he plays the first few bars. Then she tentatively joins him, singing the first lines of the song softly as they stare at each other. He's glad that he's a talented enough musician to manage the piano without sheet music and without a view of the keys.

"A Little Fall of Rain" really _is _the nicest song in _Les Miz, _and Rachel really does sound exceptional singing it. It's not a difficult song, but it fits her voice nicely. Then he gives her what she really wants and joins her vocally, singing with her just like she asked him that day in her room. It's a bit like deja vu when she carefully drops onto the seat beside him and keeps complete eye-contact with him throughout the entire song. Their voices are perfect together.

But he's known that since the _first _time they shared a piano bench.

Marius and Eponine. Star-crossed. Never meant to be. Tragic. It's poetic in a way, and when he breaks off on the last note and lets his fingers finish the last few bars of the song, he knows he's either going to make it or break it.

She doesn't kiss him back right away.

He presses his lips against hers because it feels like the right moment and because he just really fucking _wants _to. He doesn't think he'll get a better opportunity. She's turned on now by the simple fact that _no one _harmonizes with her quite like he does. He knows that. He knows _her. _But she doesn't kiss him back. She blinks at him when he pulls back, and he wonders if he's in for his second slap of the evening.

She doesn't hit him, though. She just says, "You shouldn't kiss me. You have a girlfriend."

He almost tells her that they just broke up or whatever it's technically called. But he doesn't. Rachel seems almost speechless, and her voice is really quiet. He takes advantage of it.

"I never said she was my girlfriend."

"Then what is she?"

"A legitimate excuse to keep coming to Lima."

She looks at him carefully. "And what am I?"

He just smiles and shakes his head. "Definitely not legitimate."

And then he kisses her again, and she kisses him back this time. Her lips taste like peppermint and maybe something else. Neither of them deepen it. It's just lips and his hand curled into the side of her hair. He knows something about making women melt, and this is _definitely _a good tactic.

He wants to do more.

He wants to take her upstairs to her room and find out once and for all if his underwear fantasies are based anywhere close to reality. He wants to feel how good she feels pressed underneath him against all those pink pillows. He wants to get her so worked up that she has no choice but to ask to him to _please _just take care of the pressure. But all of those are parts of a fantasy. The reality is gentle, soft kissing by a piano while her dad's just feet away.

And then it's over way too quickly.

"You need to go, Jesse." Her voice is quiet, and she doesn't look at him.

He doesn't know what to do with that. She looks embarrassed, maybe even _ashamed. _He's an asshole, but that's definitely not what he was going for. He tries to say her name, but she just stands up and smooths out her clothes. She plasters a look onto her face that screams _unaffected and fine, _but he's been perfecting his own show-face since he was a toddler. He knows what they look like.

"Thank you for your help," she says quickly, acting as though nothing in the world is out of the ordinary. "You would make a very nice Marius."

She shows him the door, and he goes without protest. He knows better than to make a scene. He doesn't know what just happened, but he actually feels _bad _as he gets in his car and heads for the highway. He doesn't like that at all.

He doesn't talk to her again, and she doesn't show up for class on Wednesday. He tries calling her but gets no answer. He sends a text and never receives a reply. She's mysteriously absent on Saturday as well, and on Sunday, he boards a plane back to California.

It's raining when he arrives at the airport.

It's fitting and ironic.

He appreciates the dramatic element, but he thinks it's one plot point he could do without. Maybe he'll cut the entire summer from his script- after all, he hears rain is good at washing away what's passed. But maybe he'll revisit it and tweak the parts that are unsteady.

After all, he can always stage subsequent performances. Christmas break is only four months away.

… … …

A/N: Jesse won't leave my head lately! Not that I'm complaining, of course... Reviews are love.


End file.
